Just One More Miracle
by BlueBrainProductions
Summary: Oneshot. John had seen Sherlock perform many miracles. Everyday the great detective did something that would surprise him. So when it came for the time to bury his friend, John asks Sherlock to do one more thing. Drabble-y and sad.


The second season of Sherlock finally came out on Netflix and I died from all of the feels. It was the Niagara Feels for god's sake!

I guess this is more of a sucky drabble because I had to get something out really fast while the feels were still there.

**Warning: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2**

* * *

The funeral was held on a Tuesday. It was a cold and rainy day, but that was to be expected. The forecast had not changed in a week. Rain pattered endlessly on the roof of the small church, creating a sort of white noise. To some, the noise would only be a nuisance, but to John it kept him grounded to reality.

He shifted slightly in his seat. Mrs. Hudson, dressed in her only black dress suit, looked at him expectantly. However, John settled and resumed staring at the closed mahogany coffin. They had been sitting like that for over two and a half hours in a completely empty church.

No one had come to funeral of Sherlock Holmes. There were no sympathy cards from any family or friends. Sherlock had no friends and John had no clue about any family other than Mycroft. Even that pompous jerk had not shown up. John honestly did not expect him to come, but there was a small amount of hope. Sherlock is-_was_ his only brother.

"John." Mrs. Hudson laid her hand on his forearm, but he did not even acknowledge her. "John, the priest said it's time. They have to prepare for an event tomorrow."

"Just a little while longer," John pleaded quietly. "I want more time."

The landlady took his shaking hand in both of hers. "He's not coming back, John. Sherlock is… gone and it's time to put him to rest."

The silence that followed was filled with the white noise of rain. John was thankful for the noise. It kept him from completely losing his mind and destroying everything in the room. It would be a shame if the only flower arrangement was damaged. Mrs. Hudson paid good money for the Carnations.

"I had a bouquet of them in my apartment," she had explained while she set the arrangement on the coffin. "Sherlock could smell them all the way upstairs somehow. He broke into my flat just to find out what it was. I remember he called them magnificent… Then he took my bouquet to experiment on the flowers. Those poor dears."

Pride; that was the meaning attached to the Carnation. It was a random fact that the former army doctor had picked up somewhere. He did not bother to try to remember where. The meaning was appropriate though. Sherlock was definitely very prideful. Even Moriarty did not have a head as large as the detective's.

For days John had hoped with every fiber of his being that all of this was just a horrific nightmare or a silly game. Hell, he'd even accept an experiment as a reason as long as it meant that his friend would jump out of the shadows. This was all impossible. The great Sherlock Holmes was too prideful to just die. There were so many things left undiscovered, so many interesting cases left to solve. Back in the flat, there was a large stack of files sitting on the desk. They had been trying; well Sherlock was trying, to decide which case to take on. Then that text message had to come in. That one message changed everything. Oh how John wished he had not he had not picked up that damn phone.

"Madam, sir, it's time." That stupid priest had come back again. Could he not see that John was waiting? Was he really that blind?

"No-"

"Yes, John." Mrs. Hudson spoke with finality in her tone. "We have waited long enough."

He finally tore his eyes away from the coffin to stare at her with empty eyes. Mrs. Hudson had fresh tears in her eyes that streamed down her cheeks in long streaks. The priest did not look very happy. It was obvious that he believed this funeral was a waste of time. John wanted to punch the man so much. He instead took in a deep breath and nodded his head.

Everything after that was a silent blur. Five men appeared to help carry the coffin. Using what little power of deduction that was drilled into his head, John saw that two were the workers who buried the coffins; one was a janitor; another some sort of secretary for the church and the last looked to be a homeless man. None of them looked overjoyed to be there.

John took his place at the front right corner of the coffin. Together the men carried it out of the church, with the priest leading the way and Mrs. Hudson following behind. It was still raining, but not as heavily as before. John would describe it as a lazy sort of rain because people rest on these days. He did not know if that would ever happen to him again. All he could see was the blood, hear the screams of the onlookers and feel the wet ground beneath his scraped hands. That would never leave his mind. He was sure of it.

The burial ceremony was short. Sherlock was not religious. It was something that he denied the existence of from hell to high water. The priest was grim faced as he performed the service with no reference to the church. The thought passed through John's mind that this was Sherlock's last jab at religion. He almost chuckled as he stared down into the hole in the ground.

All of the temporary pall bearers had disappeared and the priest soon joined them. Mrs. Hudson raised the umbrella so it covered her and John.

"I never thought I would say this, but I will miss him." Mrs. Hudson laughed gently. "He always called me a nuisance and I did the same of him…. I'll never meet a man like him again."

She sniffled pitifully and quickly turned her back to the coffin. "I-I can't," she stuttered and John interrupted her.

"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson. You can go to the car." He touched her arm. "I'll be along in a moment."

It took her a moment to regain her composure, but she finally did and walked away with her usual dignity and grace. John watched her go then turned back to the grave. The Carnation flowers were wilting in the rain and breeze. It reminded him of a metaphor: the pride of Sherlock Holmes was wilting away.

"You… You owe me a favor. You do know that right?"

There was no answer that could be heard through the drizzle, but he went on as if someone really was listening.

"I've put up with you for so long now and you definitely owe me for that." John chuckled dryly. "I doubt anyone besides Mrs. Hudson put up with you before I came along. Who could?"

He stepped forward until he was standing next to the coffin. With a shaky hand, he touched the polished wood with only his fingertips. The wood was hard and cold.

"I only have… one request. You have to stop this charade right now. This experiment with death has gone on long enough. There are people out there who need our-_your_ help. You may have had a large head and a rude personality, but you had a gift. Why would you give up such a miracle? I want-"

A Carnation got loose from its perch in the arrangement and fell to the wet grass below. John observed it with sad eyes.

"Just… give me one more miracle. _Please._"


End file.
